


All the World's a Stage

by ComingandGoingByBubble, LadyStrallan



Category: A Gentleman's Guide to Love and Murder - Lutvak/Freedman
Genre: 1910s, Costume Parties & Masquerades, F/M, Fluff and Angst, References to Shakespeare, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:46:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25736011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComingandGoingByBubble/pseuds/ComingandGoingByBubble, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyStrallan/pseuds/LadyStrallan
Summary: The Hollands and Navarros attend Daisy Greville's masquerade charity ball. Sibella and Lionel try to keep up their perfect couple facade, while Monty dotes on Phoebe and broods over Sibella.
Relationships: Phoebe D'Ysquith/Monty Navarro, Phoebe D'Ysquith/Sibella Hallward, Sibella Hallward/Lionel Holland, Sibella Hallward/Monty Navarro
Kudos: 6





	All the World's a Stage

It was like clockwork, every time Sibella and Lionel would attend a social event; Daisy Greville’s charity masquerade was no different than the rest. Really, everything they did was as such. They would interact with each other just enough to keep up appearances; pretend to be the happy couple Sibella desperately wished they were. The rest of the time, they had agreed to keep to themselves. In all honesty, this arrangement they had was nothing to complain about. She still had Monty, and luckily Lionel was none the wiser. Speaking of, where was Monty? And Phoebe too? She glanced at the large clock mounted on the wall of the large, lavish ballroom. The answer was clear; neither of them were married to Lionel. Of course, Mr. and Mrs. Holland had arrived right on time; glancing at each other before exiting the carriage, to affirm that the other was wearing a festive expression. 

They had been greeted at the door by the host herself, Daisy Greville, who commented that Sibella looked lovely in her ‘rose garden’ costume. She really did; her blonde hair done up prettily, the mask bejewelled, the dress fashionable and decorated with dozens of imitation roses, her face decorated with an imitation smile. She had thanked the woman, and handed a servant the shawl Lionel insisted she wear; heaven forbid she catch a cold. 

“Shall we?” Lionel asked, in a tone that could be described as neither warm nor cold. She took his outstretched arm, and they joined the festivities, making some appearances as a couple before Sibella made her way to a clique of young society ladies. 

They greeted her excitedly, asking her about Lionel, and filling her in on the latest nonsense gossip. Sibella smiled, and nodded, and occasionally gave a vague reply to any questions directed at her. Someone mentioned how handsome Lionel looked in his motorcar racer costume. _How he loved that motorcar. Probably more than he loved his own wife_ , Sibella thought. She glanced at the clock again, only half listening to Imogen Withers brag that her butterfly costume cost more than they paid the house maids a year. Where were Monty and Phoebe?

* * *

It was her fault that they were running late. She had fussed and fretted over getting her headdress and mask just right, delicately placed over those dark curls and porcelain skin. It was, after all, one of her first official outings as Countess of Highhurst, she must be presentable.

Phoebe hoped, however, as the carriage jostled along, that Sibella hadn’t been waiting for them for too long.

She wondered if she would recognize Sibella, when it came down to it. Surely, she would, that blonde hair and beautiful cerulean eyes were unmistakable, but then again, a mask and a dress did hide many an identity throughout the ages.

A worst thought entered Phoebe’s head, that perhaps Sibella would not recognize her. They had spent a fair amount of time together since the arrangement, and Monty’s release from jail. They were not strangers like they had once been. They were friends, good friends, companions if she dared to say. Surely Sibella would recognize her.

Although, Monty had remarked that not many people would understand her costume. Dressed as Ophelia from Hamlet, Phoebe paid homage to a personal favorite Shakespearian heroine of hers. A dark blue gown fitted to her small stature, with black lace edging along the hem. The shoulders had slight puffs of black lace to them, the bodice sewn with dark black jewels that sparkled, and most importantly the mask and headdress. The mask was rather plain, to offset the ostentatious gown, with a dark grey face with black edging and swirls carved into it. The headdress was rather simple as well, white around the edges, and grey in the middle. It looped around each side of her head, giving her curls extra emphasis.

She couldn’t have been more pleased when she received her gown and everything from the shop, it had all been beyond her wildest expectations.

Monty squeezed her hand lovingly as the carriage pulled to a halt upon arriving at Daisy Greville’s manor. A slight chill was in the early September air, but it felt good against Phoebe’s skin as she was assisted by Monty out of the carriage.

He looked devastatingly handsome tonight. Her Hamlet. A true prince in manners and attire.

As they went inside, the warmth from the ballroom made Phoebe’s cheeks flush around her mask.

Almost immediately, a hand reached out towards her, wrapping around her wrist.

“And who is this charming creature?” A woman trilled with a rather obnoxious white and goose feathered gown on, complete with some sort of swan necked attachment around her throat.

“I’m Ophelia, from Hamlet,” Phoebe explained.

A jeweled white mask did not hide the fact that whomever she was speaking to did not understand the reference, and inwardly Phoebe sighed.

She turned around to find Monty, but found herself suddenly surrounded by other noble women, Countesses, Duchesses and the like. The lady in the goose feathered dress was Daisy Greville, and she had apparently taken it upon herself to oversee Phoebe’s induction into high society as a Countess.

“Such a lovely costume, Countess Navarro. And The Earl looks quite dashing as well, what a pair you are. Thank you so much for coming to my charity gala this evening, it does mean so much to me.”

Phoebe gave a polite smile, while her eyes roamed around to find Monty.

“Have you decided on what charities you’ll be presiding over yet, Countess?” Someone asked.

Phoebe thought it was Lady Ellsworth, but the hideous orange gown did no favors as to reveal the identity of the wearer.

She took one more glance around the room, to try and find Monty but he had disappeared, presumably with the other men. Her hopes of them finding Sibella together were dashed, but she put on a brave face.

She gave the other women a smile.

“No,” she replied, “Do you have any suggestions?”

The ladies huddled around her closer, glad to share their secrets and their charities. 

* * *

Almost as soon as they had arrived had Monty been separated from Phoebe. He should have guessed that Daisy Greville would want the new Countess of Highhurst to join her band of benefactors. Before he could even think of searching the vast ballroom for Sibella, he was bombarded by two men; one, who he half remembered as Lord Blakeley, and the other who he was certain he had not been acquainted with.

“Ah, Lord Navarro,” said the man who was not Lord Blakeley, “how delightful it is to make your acquaintance.”

“Indeed,” Monty replied, shaking the man’s hairy hand.

“Lord Ellsworth and I were just discussing the unfortunate circumstances by which you became Earl,” said Blakeley.

“Perhaps you should not remind him,” suggested Ellsworth, “I’d imagine it is a sore subject.”

Monty gave a short laugh, which he hoped the two men would not detect was nervous.

“Lovely evening, isn’t it?” Monty said abruptly, desperately trying to steer the conversation away from the deceased D'ysquiths. “Daisy Greville has certainly out done herself.”

The two men agreed passively.

“Who do you think really did it?” Lord Blakeley asked Monty. His voice was low.

“What?” Monty was taken aback by the man’s question. Why should he know? Surely they didn’t suspect the others’ deaths were suspicious, did they?

“ _You know_ ,” added Lord Ellsworth, “Who do you think killed the Earl?”

“The previous Earl,” Blakely clarified.

Monty’s eyes darted around the ballroom, looking for someone, _anyone,_ that he could make an excuse to leave. A flash of blonde and a swirl of pink fabric caught his eye immediately. In actuality, he had no idea what Sibella had come dressed as. But if he knew Sibella, he was almost certain that she would be clad in some shade of pink.

“I think I see Mrs Holland,” Monty exclaimed, “I should go say hello. She’s a dear friend, you see.”

Before allowing the men to respond, he turned in the direction that he had seen who had possibly been Sibella.

“Lord Navarro!” One of the men called after him.

Monty looked back to where they stood.

“Excellent costume.”

Monty’s eyes widened in panic as he continued surveying the ballroom for Sibella. What did he mean, _excellent costume_? Did excellent mean fitting? Fitting in that Monty, like Hamlet who he was dressed as had murdered family members? Surely not, he assured himself. He was just being paranoid. It was unlikely they even knew what his costume was. Having settled his anxiety, he set off to look for Sibella.

* * *

Every once in a while, when a lull in the conversation had started, Phoebe had searched with anxious eyes to find either Sibella or Monty to no avail. It seemed as though the women surrounding her sensed her agitated state and were content on keeping the new Countess of Highhurst all to themselves.

A looming silence lingered, and Phoebe took her opening and ran with it.

“If you ladies will excuse me, I should go say hello to my dear friend, Mrs. Holland. Thank you for your illuminating conversations, I shall be in touch about my upcoming charity events soon.”

Before anyone could reach out and pull her back into the circle, Phoebe sidestepped and found some free space to breathe. The ballroom was quite full with couples and many a noble personage. Phoebe recognized most of the faces from her youth, from meeting them as a child at festivities at Highhurst, but she longed to find Sibella, a familiar face amongst the crowd.

She had not seen Sibella, her earlier statement had been a white lie. Too many faces laid between her and Sibella, and were whirling around and covered by masks, that Phoebe could not be sure where Sibella was.

Phoebe decided to at least attempt to find her, and made her way through the crowds. She would probably be stuck with Lionel, if she hadn’t managed to get away by now. Lionel was probably talking to whatever politicians he could get close to. Phoebe turned and her attention was diverted by one particular woman.

Standing tall, in a dress covered with hand sewn roses, blonde hair done up, and a mask laced with roses, it only could be Sibella. She was standing near the edge of a group of ladies, far younger than herself, chatting amiably with them, but her eyes, or what of them Phoebe could see beneath the mask, were searching the room.

Phoebe’s breath was almost taken away when she saw her, for Sibella truly looked like something one heard about in fairytales, or myths of old. She looked far more beautiful than everyone else around her, the prettiest woman in the room by leaps and bounds. Stylish to perfection, the dress fit her like a glove, the mask hid and yet revealed her porcelain smooth features, her bright smile, her mischievous eyes.

Her feet moved of their own accord towards Sibella, and she reached out a gentle hand, placing it on Sibella’s arm.

Sibella turned, and again Phoebe couldn’t help but smile brightly and be blinded by Sibella’s obvious beauty.

“Phoebe!” she exclaimed, sounding unbelievably happy to find her friend and extract herself from the gaggle of hens that she had been forced to deal with. They took a few steps away from them, Phoebe’s hand unconsciously still on Sibella’s arm delicately.

“I was worried you two weren’t going to show up, you arrived terribly late, you know,” she chastised, pouting playfully, lips pursed.

“It’s my fault entirely, I wanted to make sure everything was in place.”

Sibella eyed her, looking her up and down.

“You’ve kept me in the dark about your costume all this time, but let me hazard a guess now.” She put a finger up to her lips, head tilted.

“Ophelia, I believe, if what you’ve told me is to be believed. Her mourning dress, yes?”

Phoebe beamed. She knew Sibella would understand her costume.

“Yes, how quick you are to guess. No one else has accurately deciphered who I am.”

“Everyone else here is too much in their cups to care,” quipped Sibella.

Phoebe then realized her hand was still on Sibella’s arm, and she moved it down to her side.

“Where is Monty?” Sibella craned her neck to look out over the crowd.

“I’m not sure. We lost track of each other when we arrived. Daisy Greville and her flock got a hold of me to talk about charities and whatnot.”

Sibella made a face. “Oh, yes I’m sure. I’m sorry,” she sounded sincere.

A moment of silence passed.

“Your dress is exquisite. Absolutely stunning,” remarked Phoebe.

Sibella gave her a half smile, “Thank you. Although Lionel complained horribly about the price, I think it’s rather extravagant and lovely.”

“It’s beautiful,” Phoebe smiled, and Sibella caught her eye, and smiled as well. 

* * *

How kind Phoebe was, Sibella thought to herself. Looking as lovely as she did dressed as Ophelia, and yet fawning over Sibella herself. The exchange was slightly awkward, but Sibella doubted that it would ever not be awkward given the circumstances of their relationship.

Suddenly, a man pushed through the circles of society lords and ladies, making his way towards the two women.

“Monty!” exclaimed Phoebe and Sibella almost simultaneously.

Sibella noticed how handsome Monty looked. The dark colours not only complementing his dark hair and fair skin, but perfectly matching Phoebe’s costume. That was when it hit her. _Of course_. Monty dressed as Hamlet and Phoebe as Ophelia. This was so typical of them wasn’t it? Monty and Phoebe Navarro, the perfect couple; always so perfectly synchronized with each others’ thoughts.

And then, there was Sibella and Lionel. They contrasted the Navarros in nearly every way. It was even evident in the way the couples had dressed that evening. Not that Sibella wished she was dressed as a motorcar, or a can of motor oil.

“How are you, Sibella?” Monty asked. He probably knew; he always read her so well.

“Same as always,” replied Sibella politely, with a melancholy sort of half-smile. “Your costumes are quite handsome by the way. Perfectly matched, just like you two.”

There was a slight sting of jealousy in her words, she didn’t mean there to be, and yet there it was. She knew why she was envious; had she not been so foolish in times past, she could have been in Phoebe’s position. Countess of Highurst, and Phoebe still just Monty’s cousin.

She scolded herself internally. She shouldn’t think like that; she liked Phoebe. In fact, between Monty’s release from prison and this current moment, her affections to the woman had grown quite considerably. How strange, that she should befriend the wife of the man she was so madly in love with.

She thought for a moment of what it would be like were Monty to become friendly with Lionel. Such a silly thought; Monty hated Lionel. And the latter was equally weary of the former. Lionel had the belief that it was terribly improper for a lady of Sibella’s position to have companions of the opposite sex.

When Sibella was with Monty she would try her hardest to leave Lionel out of the conversation, lest he be brought up and Monty spend the rest of their time together bitterly ranting about Mr Holland.

“You look splendid as always,” said Monty; a statement that packed so many compliments that would be deemed improper for Lord Navarro to say to Mrs Holland.

Right on time as usual, Mr Holland appeared behind Sibella, snaking an arm around her corseted waist. She recoiled slightly from his embrace.

“Why don’t you come and have a dance, Sibella?” Lionel asked, his voice feigning domestic affection.

“Yes, dear,” Sibella said; as she answered most of Lionel’s requests.

Lionel directed his gaze to Monty and Phoebe. He gave Monty an almost unnoticeable nod. “Lord Navarro.” He turned to Phoebe, and gave her a nod as well. “Countess.”

He held out his hand for Sibella to take and did not wait for her to say goodbye before leading her away from the Navarros.

“It was pleasant to see you Mrs Holland,” Monty called after Sibella, who was being dragged away to the dancing by Lionel. His use of her proper title irked her terribly.

* * *

Lionel always ruined everything.

Monty suggested him and Phoebe go watch the dancing after she expressed disinterest in participating herself. Phoebe wasn’t one for dancing. They set off arm in arm in the direction the Hollands had left in. 

A small woodwind and strings orchestra commenced a waltz, and the various society couples began their dance.

Monty immediately spotted Sibella, hand and waist gripped by Lionel. Despite how graceful she looked from here, she undoubtedly was having her toes stepped on.

The sight brought Monty back to the time Sibella had brought Monty to her cotillion in her debutante days. It was a happy memory, despite the odd looks they had gotten from the other girls and their dates, wondering why Sibella had taken the son of the disgraced D'ysquith daughter and a penniless musician.

He tried not to cringe as he watched them, but the sight of another man holding his Sibella like that made his blood boil. _His Sibella._ After fights, and trysts, and marriages, and murder trials she was still _his_ _Sibella_.

It was even worse that her husband was Lionel. Lionel who so obviously didn’t deserve her. Then again, a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. It almost didn’t matter who she had married, he would love her the same nonetheless. And hate the man who stole his chance of marrying Sibella Hallward. Monty wasn’t sure he could ever deem any man worthy of his first love. He almost couldn’t bear the jealousy he felt when he heard her referred to as ‘Mrs Holland’.

He looked at her face; her eyes glazed over, and her lips curved into a performative smile.

Phoebe leaned over to him. “Marvelous, isn’t it?” Surely she had noticed his enthrallment in the waltz.

“Beautiful,” Monty replied. His eyes were still fixed on Sibella’s charming eyes, her delicate frame, her mischievous demeanor.

His focus on Sibella broke and he looked over at Phoebe. Heavens, did she look exquisite tonight. Their costumes had been her idea; and what a wonderful idea they were. He imagined Phoebe portraying Ophelia in some sort of London production of Hamlet. No doubt she would be a better actress than the late Lady Salome.

He smiled at her softly, watching her eyes glitter as they observed the festivities. How he adored her. Her kindness never failed to warm his heart in times of trouble.

He looked back at the clumsy sight of Lionel trying to waltz with Sibella.

Monty noticed how incredibly fitting Sibella’s costume was. She was a rose. Beautiful, yes, but accompanied by pointed thorns. He knew she meant no harm with her harsh words and cold attitudes; she only wanted to protect her heart. Phoebe was a daisy. Innocent and genuine, and softer than Sibella. Phoebe wore her heart on her sleeves rather plainly. Some would deem her as weak, hysterical; but Monty knew she had strength in her own right.

As his eyes flitted back and forth between the two women, he took stock of their attributes. They were both immense beauties, yet looked contrastive to each other. Phoebe possessed a purity where Sibella was knowing. And yet, he loved them both.

Monty could hardly see a flaw in Phoebe D'ysquith, whereas he could detect every minute flaw in Sibella Hallward. And every fault, every deceitful lie, every vain insecurity, every imperfection made him love her more.

He thought of what was said in Phoebe’s tales of romance. True love; two beings destined to be with each other no matter the peril that would befall them. He did not believe this to be true indefinitely. One precise detail was complete nonsense in his mind. 

He was truly, inescapably, inordinately in love with Sibella _and_ Phoebe. And the whole mess of it was meant to be.

* * *

Phoebe D'ysquith was no fool.

She knew that her husband was irrevocably in love with Sibella Holland. She would have to have been blind not to see it, it was so obvious.

Even still, with that knowledge brought forth and processed, Phoebe harbored no ill will towards Sibella nor her husband for their affection for one another. Even right now, as she stood next to him, with Monty glaring at Lionel Holland’s hand too tightly grasping at Sibella’s waist, Phoebe felt no animosity, only pity.

Pity that Sibella was trapped in a loveless marriage, trapped with a bore of a man who did not love her, who only saw her as a prize to be kept.

Monty’s own hand gently wrapped around her waist from the back, and she smiled softly to herself.

Even though he harbored deep feelings for Sibella, Phoebe knew that Monty loved her also. That his love for her matched his love for Sibella in just a different manner and approach. It was strange, to be sure, but not uncommon. After all, there were all sorts of loves in this world to be explored, and it varied from person to person.

She leaned into his touch just slightly, not too obviously and affectionately lest they attract eyes on them. After the murders, Monty and herself already had enough eyes on them. Everyone seemed to be waiting to see if the D'ysquith curse would carry onto its present Earl. They were all like vultures, these society ladies and gentlemen, all waiting for tragedy to strike so that they could snap up whatever pieces were left.

Phoebe was beyond grateful to have Monty by her side throughout it all. After all of the personal tragedy she had endured, having him next to her, to hold her hand, provided her the strength she needed to get by.

Monty then pressed a kiss to her temple, and a blush rose to her cheeks.

“Are you sure you don’t want to dance?” he asked quietly.

She shook her head, “No, I’m quite alright just watching. I never did master my steps, I preferred to read.”

Monty smiled at her, pulling her in just a bit closer, and Phoebe felt giddy, like a child.

This was everything she had ever wanted, to be a Countess, to be in love with her husband, to have a friend like Sibella by her side. She only wished her family could be here to see it, but she supposed that couldn’t be helped.

After all, Ophelia had lost her father and still managed to carry on, for whatever little life she had left. True, she had supposedly gone mad, but Phoebe supposed madness due to grief could be forgiven, it was the most heart wrenching kind of grief.

Phoebe straightened as the song came to an end, and clapped for all of the couples who had participated in the dance.

Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she spotted an old friend of hers, a Lady Anna Fessins, with whom she had been acquainted with in childhood.

“Darling, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to say hello to an old friend,” she squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back with a gentle smile. 

She moved her way through the crowd to find her old friend.

* * *

A curt bow was all Lionel had given Sibella when the waltz concluded, before he was making his way back to a group of stuffy looking gentlemen, trying to make political connections. Sibella had no complaints of this though, for it allowed her to return to Monty, who was now standing alone. She took a deep breath, shrugging her shoulders as she approached him, as if to say that she was glad the dance with Lionel had ended.

“I do very much wish we could have had a dance together,” he said, as she came into earshot of his hushed voice. “You are rather talented at the waltz.”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she replied with her usual mischievous smile, yet it was accompanied by sad eyes. As their respective gazes met and lingered, they each understood the melancholy contentment the other had in their life.

Suddenly, Monty took in a quick breath and blurted, “Why don’t you come stay at Highhurst for a week? Or longer.” She raised an eyebrow at his proposition. He noticed her apprehensive look, and added, “Phoebe would be so pleased to have you, and I…” His voice trailed off. “It may be good for you to have time away from Mr Holland.”

Sibella glanced back at Lionel jabbering to the politicians. She mulled it over in her mind for a moment; this would be good for her, wouldn’t it. Not to mention it would be vastly more enjoyable to spend the time with Monty and Phoebe as opposed to Lionel. Come to think of it, would Lionel object? Well, he objected to almost everything he didn’t plan for Sibella. She came to the conclusion that she would ask him tomorrow. No, she would _tell_ him tomorrow.

“What a wonderful idea, Monty.”

Sibella felt Lionel’s eyes burning into the back of her head and let out a huff. When he reached the place the two stood, he looked at them both skeptically. Monty gave him an inquiring look. Eventually, Lionel turned his head towards Sibella.

“I think it best we take our leave.”

“This moment?” Sibella asked, eyes darting back to Monty.

“Yes,” Lionel answered firmly, looking her straight in the eyes.

“I haven’t said my goodbyes to Countess Navarro,” she said; her voice sounding considerably smaller than before.

“You’ll see her again soon enough.” Lionel’s replies were cold and sharp.

Sibella took a breath and turned to Monty. “I should like to see you again soon, Lord Navarro,” she said, barely attempting to constrain the knowing smirk on her lips.

“And I, you, Mrs Holland.” The two made eye contact in an agreement of mutual mischief.

Lionel glared at Monty, before putting an arm around Sibella’s waist and leading her towards the exit. 

Although her and Monty’s exchange was cut short, and she had not been allowed to properly say goodbye to Phoebe, Sibella left delighted that she would soon meet with them again.

“How was your evening?” Lionel asked as they got into the carriage, only to be polite.

“Lovely,” Sibella replied.

* * *

When Phoebe returned, Sibella had already been whisked away by Lionel. Monty slipped a hand around her waist comfortingly.

“She wanted to say goodbye, you know,” he murmured.

Phoebe sighed, “I know, I suspected as much.”

He reached for her hand, squeezing it tightly, giving her a look that she understood completely.

“I’ve invited her to Highhurst,” Monty said in a low voice, “That way we could spend some time together. I assumed that would be okay with you?”

Phoebe took a moment to answer. Of course it would be okay, she rather enjoyed getting to know Sibella, and this newfound arrangement they all found themselves in, but she couldn’t help but worry for her sake.

“Whatever shall she tell Lionel?”

Monty shrugged, “I’m not sure. I’m sure she’ll think of something.”

Phoebe nodded then, relaxing. Her face was flushed from the mask and the excitement, and for a moment she felt like a child again, playing dress up with Henry in her youth. 

It would be nice to have Sibella over for a while, to get to know her without prying eyes everywhere. It would be nice enough to have her all to themselves, and away from Lionel. Sibella was always much more amiable, much kinder when Lionel wasn’t around. Not that Phoebe blamed her, if she had married a boring, dull man such as that, Phoebe gathered she would be rather cross whenever he was around. 

The possibilities of perhaps having Sibella tour the art gallery, or the conservatory made Phoebe smile with joy. Yes, some time at Highhurst would do them all quite nicely.

Phoebe leaned in towards Monty, tilting her head up to press a soft kiss to his cheek, smiling softly.

“Whatever was that for?” he asked, smiling.

“Just because,” she answered, lifting her head up to kiss him again. 

Phoebe pulled away after a moment, but still left their hands intertwined together. 

“One last waltz before we leave, Lord Navarro?” she asked playfully with a joyful smile on her face that could brighten up the whole room.

Monty pulled her in sharply, leaning in to kiss her lips.

“Of course, my Countess.”

Phoebe smiled, feeling a sense of joy and happiness that she had not thought possible since the tragedy that had befallen her family. After losing almost everyone, she had never thought herself to ever be so happy again, to smile and laugh, and have things to look forward to. But now here she was, dancing with the man she loved, married to the man she loved, and forming a lasting friendship with Sibella. 

Things couldn’t be more perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> I had so much fun writing this piece with the amazing ComingandGoingByBubble. I hope you enjoyed it! More GGLAM fics coming soon, including a new collaboration <3
> 
> \- LadyStrallan


End file.
